


About a Birthday

by AZGirl



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, Birthdays, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Friendship, Gen, Season/Series 01 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-29
Updated: 2014-10-29
Packaged: 2018-02-23 03:47:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2532971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AZGirl/pseuds/AZGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Athos wasn't quite sure he was meant to see it, but the side glance d'Artagnan had given him had spoken volumes. For some reason, d'Artagnan hated talking about or even celebrating his birthday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	About a Birthday

**Author's Note:**

> My birthday is in October, so naturally I thought of writing about d’Artagnan’s birthday – lol. This story is dedicated to all those who have birthdays this month. :D

**ooooooo**

_“A friend is someone who can see the truth and pain in you even when you are fooling everyone else.” – Unknown._

ooooooo 

Athos sipped his wine as he watched d’Artagnan, Aramis, and Porthos play a rowdy game of cards. He recognized the game as one d’Artagnan had taught them all after refusing to play with any of them ever again once he’d discovered that Porthos cheated and that Aramis sometimes helped him for a portion of the profits. The young Gascon’s game required only speed and strategy in order to win and he’d never admit it aloud but, on the rare occasion they coaxed him into playing, he enjoyed it too. 

Earlier, his three friends had tried to get him to play cards with them, but he refused citing that he’d rather watch. And while he honestly hadn’t felt like playing, Athos had been trying to identify the reason why he was still feeling a little unsettled despite Porthos having been formally exonerated of the murder charges that had been laid against him. 

His first inclination was to attribute his uneasiness to the fact that one of his closest friends had almost died, but something was telling him it was more than that and more than the fact that they had almost been too late to stop hundreds of people from dying in the Court of Miracles. He began reviewing recent events but even then nothing seemed to stand out in his mind as something that he should be worried about. He turned his attention back to watching the current round of card playing and hoped whatever it was that was teasing at the edges of his subconscious would come to the fore if he wasn’t actively trying to recall it. 

A few minutes later, d’Artagnan let out a shout of triumph when he set down his last card thus winning the game. Porthos threw his cards down on the table and stood, advancing on d’Artagnan. 

“You won – _again_! It’s my birthday. Shouldn’t you be letting me win?” Porthos asked in mock anger. 

D’Artagnan also stood and, in his haste to escape Porthos’s reach, almost knocked over his chair. “Correction: It _was_ your birthday, Porthos. Had it…” 

Whatever the young man said next was lost to Athos when he finally put a finger on what had been causing his lingering uneasiness. It was d’Artagnan. 

Though he’d resisted the younger man’s friendship at first, over the intervening months, he’d come to see that d’Artagnan was brave, loyal, and easy to get along with. Aramis and Porthos had often teased him that he was too aloof and unsociable, preferring drink to conversation, even with his closest friends. D’Artagnan had taken his personality and dark moods in stride and had somehow managed to breach his defenses, becoming a good friend to him. Perhaps not yet on the same level as Porthos and Aramis, but he had a feeling the Gascon’s friendship would eventually be one of the most important of his life. 

With that thought in the back of his mind, it had occurred to him during Porthos’s birthday celebration that he did not know when d’Artagnan’s own birthday was. 

Annoyed with himself for revealing so much of his past after the Gascon had rescued him from his burning house, Athos had treated d’Artagnan in a less than amiable way for weeks afterward, either ignoring him or berating him for no good reason. D’Artagnan’s attitude towards him remained as friendly as ever, but Athos had caught glimpses of disappointment and sadness in the younger man’s eyes after each of their encounters. It eventually became clear to him that, despite how he’d treated the boy, d’Artagnan’s opinion of him had not soured and that remarkably there was only more concern for his well-being than before. Once he’d realized that, Athos had made the decision stop his harassment and to more actively get to know his newest friend – one of the best decisions of his life. 

In an attempt to continue following through on that resolution, he’d asked d’Artagnan when his birthday was. His young friend had frozen in the process of taking a drink of wine, the cup half way to his mouth. An indecipherable expression had crossed his face and as he lowered the cup, he had calmly said, “It’s already come and gone.” 

D’Artagnan’s whole demeanor had gone from open and jovial to closed off and miserable with just one question. Having so rarely seen the younger man in such a state, the sight had greatly disturbed him. Oddly enough, he’d even had the urge to make amends for daring to ask the question though he’d had no way knowing it would affect d’Artagnan in such a way. Before he could follow up in any way, he’d been distracted from his purpose when Porthos had come up with the idea of shooting a melon off of Aramis’s head. 

Now that things had gone back to normal, or as normal as they could get, he still had the desire to get to the bottom of that distressing reaction to his innocuous question. However, he was again distracted from his purpose when a warm body had bumped into him, spilling his wine all over himself and the table. Said body had belonged to Aramis, and both he and Porthos had apparently ganged up on d’Artagnan. Porthos had pinned the younger man’s arms to his sides and was continuously ruffling the boy’s hair, while Aramis was tickling him relentlessly. While attempting to escape, he’d tripped Aramis who had collided into Athos. 

It took him only a moment to choose a side. A couple of minutes later, a soaking wet d’Artagnan was vehemently cursing at all three of them from the water trough. It was one thing to rough house but it was quite another to rough house _and_ spill his wine. 

Unfortunately, the unexpected distraction had succeeded and Athos forgot to confront d’Artagnan about his reaction to the birthday question – until Aramis’s birthday. 

ooooooo 

Aramis’s birthday celebration had gone much the route of Porthos’s – sans the murder accusation and an apple standing in for the melon. 

It wasn’t until Aramis had suggested shooting an apple off of Porthos’s head that Athos had remembered his resolution to speak to d’Artagnan. Apparently, his young friend had recalled their conversation as well and had begun avoiding being put into a position where the two of them could converse. 

D’Artagnan’s attempts at avoidance succeeded until someone else entirely thought to ask about his birthday. 

His friend handled the question much better this time around; d’Artagnan had shrugged indifferently and given Aramis the exact same answer as he’d given Athos. 

“It’s already come and gone.” 

Athos wasn’t quite sure he was meant to see it, but the side glance d’Artagnan had given him had spoken volumes. For some reason, d’Artagnan hated talking about or even celebrating his birthday. In return for all that his young friend was holding in confidence for him, Athos resolved to let this issue go. However, if d’Artagnan ever wanted to talk about it with him, then he would be more than willing to listen and lend his support. 

ooooooo 

When it came time for Athos’s birthday, they were out on a mission and weren’t able to celebrate until more than a week after they’d finally returned to Paris. Still recovering from a moderate concussion, broken ribs, and a deep graze to his thigh due to an ambush, Athos had chosen to have a quiet dinner at one of the better quality taverns in the city for the belated celebration. 

For much of the night, d’Artagnan seemed unable to enjoy himself and was acting as if he was dreading being asked about his own birthday, but Athos made sure not to say anything about it. He also steered any conversation that came anywhere near the topic onto a new one. Thankfully, neither Aramis nor Porthos had thought to ask d’Artagnan the birthday question and ended up bickering amongst themselves about something inane. 

ooooooo 

However, everything came to a head on Porthos’s next birthday. 

The party was going much the same as the previous year, but hoping to avoid anything like last year’s trouble, Tréville had expressly forbid anyone from shooting anything off of anywhere, especially another person. Aramis and Porthos had circumvented Tréville’s order by throwing knives at targets, though they’d wisely refrained from involving defenseless produce in the game. 

D’Artagnan had surprised almost everyone by being a near expert at throwing knives – almost on level with Aramis’s ability to shoot. Only Athos had not been in the least surprised; the first day they’d met, he had seen how accurately his brother had thrown his main gauche and had known then, by the look on the other’s face, that d’Artagnan had hit exactly what he’d aimed at. 

Porthos had just completed his turn and was retrieving his main gauche as d’Artagnan stepped up to the target. When he passed by the younger man, he asked when d’Artagnan’s birthday was. Athos inwardly cringed at the question and hoped d’Artagnan would be able to carry on without letting the others know just how much the topic rattled him. 

His young friend threw the knife perhaps a little harder than he’d intended but d’Artagnan still managed to land a hit only slightly outside the center area of the target that he’d been hitting all evening. Athos was impressed that the Gascon had managed to put his head before his heart in this instance, considering how much the thought of celebrating the day of his birth seemed to affect the younger man. 

As d’Artagnan strode towards the target to retrieve his knife, he gave the same rote answer, “It’s already come and gone.” 

“How can that be?” Aramis asked, not realizing how bad an idea continuing this line of conversation was. “We’ve never celebrated your birthday and this is the second birthday of Porthos’s that you’ve been with us for.” 

D’Artagnan sheathed his main gauche rather more forcefully than was required, and Athos was about to intervene when his friend answered, “We were on a mission.” 

Athos honestly couldn’t tell whether or not d’Artagnan had told a falsehood. Since the day that he’d decided to better get to know d’Artagnan, he had gained the ability to tell what his friend was thinking or feeling in most circumstances. Much to his chagrin though, the Gascon was much more of an expert at reading him. Athos was more than a little concerned that the younger man could so easily lock his emotions away from him in this situation. 

“Why didn’t you say anythin’? We could’a celebrated when we got back to town?” Porthos asked, genuinely curious. From the look on the other man’s face, it was possible that Porthos was perhaps only just then becoming suspicious that it might be a touchy subject for their younger comrade. 

“Athos was severely injured and I was more concerned with his recovery than celebrating my birthday,” d’Artagnan replied, clearly beginning to lose the fight to remain composed. 

If d’Artagnan’s statement hadn’t already caught his attention, then the quick glance towards him certainly did. The last time Athos had been injured on a mission was when he’d had his last birthday. Could it be that their birthdays were close together or perhaps even on the same day? Was that the reason d’Artagnan refused to admit when his was? 

He shook his head slightly. No, that wasn’t it. There was more to it than that – of that he was certain. Though, in the privacy of his own head, he thought it would be quite an amusing coincidence if they did share a birth date, considering his past statement to the younger man about how alike they are. 

Mercifully, neither Porthos nor Aramis caught on to the importance of what d’Artagnan had just said. 

Aramis blithely continued on, “How about we celebrate next time we’re off duty?” 

If he hadn’t been standing right next to him and hadn’t seen it for himself, Athos would have thought he’d imagined d’Artagnan literally paling at Aramis’s question. Thankfully, Aramis was too preoccupied with taking his turn at the target to observe d’Artagnan’s sudden dip in health. 

Athos couldn’t stand the younger Musketeer’s suffering any longer and chose to intervene before d’Artagnan could answer or draw more attention to his situation. 

“D’Artagnan, I think it’s time we call it a night. You and I are on duty early tomorrow.” 

“What?” Porthos exclaimed before inquiring, “Since when?” 

“Tréville informed me before the festivities had begun.” He made a mental note to inform the captain of that fact soonest. “I apologize for not informing you earlier.” 

“Just the two of you?” Aramis confirmed. 

Athos nodded. “We are to deliver a letter, though I don’t know to whom or where just yet. The captain said those details could wait until morning.” 

He grabbed one of d’Artagnan’s biceps and led him away from the festivities and towards the barracks. 

Half way there, D’Artagnan pulled his arm out of Athos’s grasp and asked, “Do we really have a mission tomorrow morning?” 

“The captain’s sister lives a couple of hours from here. I’m sure I can convince him that writing her a short missive and having us deliver it forthwith is an excellent idea.” 

“You won’t—?” 

“Of course not,” Athos said, trying not to take offense at d’Artagnan’s sudden lack of trust in him. 

D’Artagnan’s face clearly radiated relief and his friend was just opening his mouth to say something when he interrupted. 

“Don’t thank me yet,” Athos began before reaching out to grasp the younger man’s shoulder. “We may be riding out on a simple mission tomorrow morning, but you and I will be having a very belated and much needed discussion.” He gently squeezed the tense shoulder under his hand. “You understand?” 

The Gascon’s shoulders slumped in defeat as he quietly replied, “Yes.” 

They parted at the hallway leading towards his room and Athos watched d’Artagnan walk dejectedly away from him. He hoped that his friend would be able to get some sleep but highly doubted that would be the case. 

ooooooo 

The next morning, Captain Tréville was certainly surprised to see Athos in his office so early. Without any sort of a preamble, Athos asked when the last time his captain had written his sister a letter. The captain stared at him for a long moment before warily admitting that he’d begun a letter just the other day and was almost finished with it. 

“In that case, sir,” Athos began, relieved and even more determined for his plan to work, “I would like to request that d’Artagnan and I be the ones to deliver it for you as soon as possible. Perhaps this morning would be acceptable to you.” 

Tréville’s expression grew concerned but otherwise he didn’t let on what he was thinking. 

“You’ll sort whatever this is out?” he asked, pointedly ignoring Athos’s near insubordinate behavior in favor of trusting the younger man’s judgment in regards to d’Artagnan. 

“Of course,” Athos replied confidently. 

Tréville nodded and said, “Give me five minutes.” 

ooooooo 

Letter in hand, Athos headed towards d’Artagnan’s assigned barracks. He wasn’t really surprised to not find him there nor was he surprised to hear that the younger man’s roommates didn’t remember seeing him when they woke up that morning. 

Briefly, he wondered if his young brother had decided to go absent without leave, but then he immediately banished such a ridiculous thought. No matter the personal cost to himself, d’Artagnan would never shirk his duty. Athos suspected that their conversation would definitely cost d’Artagnan in ways neither of them could yet fathom and he hoped that their friendship would not suffer because of it. 

Inspiration then struck him and he knew without a doubt that d’Artagnan was in the stables readying their horses for their journey. On his way there, he stopped in the kitchen and asked Serge for some provisions. When he specifically asked for some apples to be included, the cook had asked if d’Artagnan was accompanying him. He smiled slightly; apparently, he wasn’t the only one who’d noticed the Gascon’s fondness for the fruit. 

Knowing the younger man as well as he did, he guessed d’Artagnan likely wouldn’t be hungry and actively avoiding food. He remembered how much of a struggle it had been for the three of them to get their brother to eat when Constance had so cruelly broken things off with him. One of the foods they could consistently get him to consume was apples, and Athos wasn’t above a little bribery if it meant d’Artagnan would eat something. 

When he’d walked into the stables, he found that he’d been correct about his and d’Artagnan’s horses; they were all tacked up and ready to go. What he hadn’t expected to see was d’Artagnan with his eyes closed, resting his head against his horse’s neck. Athos wasn’t sure if the action was in deference to the younger man’s probable lack of sleep or for the comfort the animal apparently provided. 

“Ready to go?” d’Artagnan asked though his eyes were still closed. 

“When you are,” Athos replied. 

D’Artagnan lifted his head and glared at him. It was a very good thing that such a stare could not cause immediate death otherwise he would have already dropped dead. 

ooooooo 

They rode south out of Paris in order to deliver the letter to the captain’s sister. Athos hoped that the younger man would open up to him along the way, but d’Artagnan stubbornly remained silent unless he was required to give an answer. Even then the answers were extremely succinct. The tension between them was palpable and Athos despised the chasm that had seemingly opened up between them over night. 

Upon delivery of the captain’s missive, Tréville’s sister, Madame Thibault, politely requested that they wait for a short while so that she could draft a response. Athos quickly agreed, knowing he not only owed his captain but that the older man would be pleased to hear back from his sister so quickly. They waited outside, resting in the shade of a large elm tree. 

At first, d’Artagnan seemed to be amused by the antics of the captain’s nieces and nephews. Yet, once the children had become too raucous and the Madame had scolded them, his friend had instantly become melancholy and had walked away from the house, his horse trailing along behind him. Athos wanted to follow but was duty bound to wait for the Madame’s reply to her brother. He watched the younger man slowly walk to the end of the long, tree-lined lane and was relieved when d’Artagnan perched himself on the milestone that had been placed there. Athos’s instincts were telling him that this incident was related to the whole birthday question, but he did not yet know how. 

No longer would Athos let his younger brother suffer in silence. On the way back to Paris, there was an ideal place for them to stop about a half mile off the main road. Depending on the amount of rainfall, which wouldn’t be an issue at this time of year, a small lake would form and merge with several large boulders that lined the area on the east side. The beautiful vista was one that had provided him and his friends solace on multiple occasions, and he prayed it would do the same for d’Artagnan. He hoped he could get his friend to confide in him so that d’Artagnan’s burdens might be lightened, their weight having been divided in two and perhaps someday by four. 

ooooooo 

When he’d rejoined d’Artagnan at the end of the Thibault’s lane, his friend had wordlessly mounted his horse. They rode for a time, the only sounds were those made by their horses and the world around them. D’Artagnan was riding beside him and Athos could see as well as feel the tension that radiated from the younger man. 

After a while, he spotted the turn off for the lake and urged his horse in that direction. Except for a look of confusion that passed over his features, d’Artagnan seemed to be content to follow him without question. 

A few minutes later, they had their first view of the very full lake. D’Artagnan looked over at Athos, his questions obvious to anyone who knew the younger man well enough. 

“I thought we’d stop here for a meal break,” Athos state, answering at least one of d’Artagnan’s questions. 

“I’m not—,” d’Artagnan began, but was interrupted by the elder Musketeer. 

“Well _I_ am, so we are stopping,” Athos ordered and put word to deed by stopping at a copse of trees near the lake’s shoreline. 

He stepped down from his horse, grabbed the bag of provisions, and headed for the large flat boulder that hung over the lake. It was the highest they could go without climbing a tree and he’d always loved the view from this spot. 

Once they’d climbed up and gotten comfortable, Athos laid their lunch out on a worn handkerchief that he’d brought with him. As expected, d’Artagnan refused to touch any of the food Serge had packed for them. 

It was only after he’d had his fill did he reach into the bag and pull out the apples from the bottom from the small satchel. He picked one up and bit into it, savoring the sweet flavor as he chewed. After he’d taken a few bites, d’Artagnan picked one of the apples up and gently tossed it from one hand to the other. 

“You think you’re so smart,” he declared before biting into the apple. 

“No,” Athos denied. “What I _think_ is that I know you, d’Artagnan. I know that you hardly slept last night. I know that you’ve not eaten anything since yesterday morning.” He paused and tipped his half-eaten apple towards his friend. “ _And_ I know that, when you claim you are not hungry, you will still eat an apple.” 

For the longest moment, d’Artagnan looked like he was contemplating either throwing the apple at him or continuing to eat it. In the end, he chose to simply nod once in acknowledgment of his friend’s words, before finishing his apple. When d’Artagnan finished it, Athos handed him another, which he took after a brief pause.

Athos had no desire to disrupt the peace that had settled over them, but knew he must do so regardless. He had failed his flesh and blood younger brother and he refused to so again with his brother by choice. 

“What I do not _know_ ,” he said as if it hadn’t been at least ten minutes since either of them had last spoken, “is why you won’t talk to me.” 

“Like you talk to me?” d’Artagnan countered, looking angry and chucking his half-eaten apple into the water. 

He was surprised by his young friend’s reaction. Didn’t d’Artagnan know…? 

“I talk to you,” Athos defended. 

“Barely. And only on your terms or if the situation requires it.” 

Athos looked away from the younger man’s eyes unable to withstand the censure in them. He caught sight of a hawk flying across the water and watched until it dove towards the ground, presumably in an attempt to catch a meal. 

“I find it difficult to share anything about myself,” he began, still staring out over the water, “because of the way I grew up and because of what happened with my…my wife.” 

He took a deep breath and forced himself to look at d’Artagnan once more. 

“I _do_ talk to you. You know more about me than anyone,” Athos confessed. When d’Artagnan began to protest what he’d said, Athos quickly added, “ _Including_ Porthos and Aramis.” 

Letting his admission sink in for a moment, he watched as a look of amazement crossed his friend’s face followed immediately by disbelief. He couldn’t help the hurt that had begun to rise within him at that but it quickly vanished when a look of acceptance blossomed on d’Artagnan’s face along with a slight smile that Athos returned. 

“Why can’t you do me the honor of sharing your burden with me? Something about your birthday weighs heavily upon you.” 

D’Artagnan shifted so that his elbows rested on his knees and indecision filled his features. Then his attention seemed to turn inward as if he was remembering something. From the look on his younger brother’s face, it was a painful memory. 

“Your friends just want to celebrate the day of your birth. They’ll continue asking…and you’ll not be able to get away with telling them that ‘it’s already come and gone’ for much longer,” Athos quietly said. 

“I know,” d’Artagnan admitted with a voice full of emotion. 

D’Artagnan fell silent once more and picked up a stray leaf, tearing it into little pieces which the slight breeze then proceeded to carry some away. 

For the life of him, Athos couldn’t figure out what his friend was thinking, but he _could_ see how much tension was in d’Artagnan’s shoulders. His instincts told him to be patient. They trusted each other with their lives, but it was a big step to trust someone with your secrets and innermost thoughts. 

When d’Artagnan rescued him from his burning mansion, he had not intended to spill his greatest, most private secret to a young man who had still been a relative stranger to him. But, once he’d sobered up, he found that he was better off for having disclosed some of the story, feeling lighter than he had in years. There had been no judgment in d’Artagnan’s eyes nor had there been any attempts to push for more about his past. 

Athos had tried to extend the younger man the same courtesy since then but current events had made that impossible in this case. They did speak of their pasts but Athos rarely spoke about his brother, Thomas, and he knew d’Artagnan avoided certain subjects as well. It was more than likely that d’Artagnan’s allergy to celebrating his birthday somehow stemmed from a past incident too painful to speak about. 

If his friend was not yet ready to speak of the reason behind his aversion to birthdays, then so be it. However, they would still need to come up with a plan to divert attention from the fact d’Artagnan avoided celebrating them. 

For something to do, Athos began packing up the remnants of their lunch. This had the unintended effect of disturbing d’Artagnan and disrupting whatever he was thinking about. 

“Time to go?” he inquired. 

“No, I am just…” Athos trailed off, gesturing towards the satchel. 

D’Artagnan nodded his understanding and resumed his heedless decimation of the leaves within his reach. 

Athos was gathering their uneaten apple cores into his handkerchief for the horses when d’Artagnan finally spoke. 

“My mother died when I was ten,” he said, lifting his head to look out over the water. 

At first, the meaning of d’Artagnan’s non sequitur didn’t register, but then it suddenly dawned on him. 

“You mean…?” Athos asked. 

D’Artagnan nodded, remaining silent for a minute or two before he spoke again. “She had been sick for a few months, slowly getting weaker and weaker. The physician tried everything but nothing helped her.” 

Athos briefly laid a hand on d’Artagnan’s forearm and squeezed it gently, offering silent comfort as well as encouragement to continue. 

“Just before dawn on the day of my tenth birthday, my father woke me up and brought me to her bedside. She barely had the strength to keep her eyes open, but she managed once. My mother looked right at me and smiled her lopsided smile once before…before she…she…” 

D’Artagnan’s voice broke and he lowered his head, the younger’s man’s hair hiding much of his face. The pain in his friend’s voice made Athos’s heart ache for his brother. To have barely begun your tenth year of life and to be faced with a day of mourning instead of celebration; it was no wonder d’Artagnan avoided mentions of his birthday. 

Athos was not one to initiate hugs and hadn’t done so since just before his little brother was murdered, but he felt he had to do something to ease the pain that seemed to emanate from every part of his friend. Unsure of whether or not d’Artagnan would accept the comfort from him, Athos decided to rest a hand on the younger man’s upper back, over the one shoulder blade. When d’Artagnan leaned back into the touch slightly, Athos thought about increasing the contact between them to an arm about both shoulders, but something told him to hold back. 

He recalled the time when the young Gascon had received his commission; d’Artagnan had hugged both Aramis and Porthos but refrained from hugging him, perhaps instinctively knowing about his aversion to such displays of affection in public. Athos also knew that d’Artagnan had likely seen his hesitation as they had shared their four-way hug in Tréville’s office. 

Athos had already greatly surprised d’Artagnan with his confession about how he confided more in the Gascon than anyone else; it was enough for now to stay as they were. An overt display of affection from him could wait for another time, he mused to himself. 

When d’Artagnan straightened and looked ready to continue his story, Athos allowed his hand to drop back into his lap. 

Wiping a stray tear from his face, d’Artagnan resumed his story. 

“The following year, when I turned 11, my father and I just kind of ignored the fact that it was my birthday. We went to the church and lit a candle for my mother. Even the thought of celebrating my birthday seemed to me like we were happy that she was gone. I just couldn’t do it.” 

D’Artagnan stood and walked to the edge of the stone outcrop. 

“The day I turned 12 was a disaster. I just wanted to ignore the day, my mother’s death, how she died, but my father… Well, let’s just say that there was an argument and I left. I didn’t return home for two days,” his friend said before pausing and looking extremely ashamed. 

Athos stood and stepped closer to his friend, trying to reason with him. “D’Artagnan, you were a child…” 

“That doesn’t excuse my behavior! We were all each other had and the _one_ day we should have been united, I was an ungrateful, disrespectful wretch.” 

“D’Arta—” 

“No, Athos. You weren’t there. Please don’t… I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but please don’t.” 

Athos nodded once and held his hands up in surrender. Trying to distract d’Artagnan from what was obviously a painful time, he asked, “What happened when you turned thirteen?” 

The young Musketeer shook his head briefly and looked up into the sky as if seeking guidance. 

“When I turned 13, no one said a thing to me about my birthday. It was just like any other day – or some facsimile thereof, anyway – and I was relieved. I was happy my father finally understood. 

“That evening, we were served duck confit for supper. It was my favorite dish at the time – still is one of my favorites.” 

Athos didn’t understand why what they were served was so important and asked about the dish’s significance. 

“Because it was my favorite, Athos! For every birthday, my mother would make us our favorite meals. Once I realized, I got so very angry at my father. He just sat there and, and absorbed every negative and hurtful word I threw at him. And once I practically yelled myself hoarse, he said…” 

D’Artagnan’s face crumpled and he lifted his hands to cover his face. Athos approached him, grabbed his forearms and gently forced the younger man to move his hands down. 

Looking into eyes full of anguish, Athos quietly asked, “What did your father say, d’Artagnan?” 

His friend looked away as a couple of tears started making their way down his face. 

Swiping the errant tears away, d’Artagnan replied, “He…he s-said, ‘I loved your maman too.’ I felt so guilty for the horrible way I treated my father. I was only thinking of my pain, how my mother’s death affected me… For _two years_ , I had selfishly forgotten that my father had lost his wife, the love of his life.” 

“What happened next?” 

“I let it go,” the younger man said with a defeated shrug. “I decided to not torture my father any more about my continued aversion to celebrating my birthday. The meal… It was a compromise – one I could live with. Continuing the tradition of having our favorite meals on our birthdays was a good way to honor my mother and remember how much we loved her. Until you asked me about it last year, no mentions were made of my birthday ever again.” 

“What about your friends back home in Lupiac? Surely they…” 

“ _That_ is a story for another time, my friend,” d’Artagnan interrupted with a sad half-smile on his face. 

Athos was troubled by the younger man’s answer and thought about pursuing that line of questioning, but he noticed how late in the day it was getting; they still had some distance to cover before returning home. He had always wondered why d’Artagnan never mentioned any friends or extended family, but there would be time enough in the future for such discussions. 

“We should be going,” he said, pointing towards the sun. “God only knows how much trouble Aramis and Porthos have gotten into today without us there.” 

D’Artagnan smiled, and though it wasn’t as bright a smile as he’d seen on his friend’s face, it was a better countenance than what he’d been faced with for the past hour. 

As the Gascon walked passed him, he caught one of d’Artagnan’s forearms and said, “Thank you for telling me. I know it wasn’t easy.” 

D’Artagnan lifted his other hand and laid it on Athos’s shoulder. “It had to be done, and you are my friend.” Patting the shoulder a couple of times and squeezing it gently, he added. “The best I’ve ever had, I think.” 

Athos was surprised by d’Artagnan’s confession. Surely that could not be the case, especially given all his personality flaws. The young Musketeer must have seen the expression on his face and d’Artagnan’s smile grew. 

“Perhaps one day you’ll tell me about how, as a little boy, you would frighten the life out of your parents by disappearing for hours on end.” 

Athos was shocked. How in the world had his young friend known about that? He’d never told anyone but Thomas about all those hours spent contentedly on his own exploring the attic and finding treasures belonging to generations past, a past that was now destroyed because of him. 

His friend laughed and said, as if he’d plucked the thoughts right out of his head, “The attic of your house must have been a great place to explore. What great memories you must still have.” 

D’Artagnan continued to laugh as he made his way down back to the horses, likely amused by the dumbstruck look that was probably Athos’s face. He thought it was completely unfair how easily the younger man could read him at this point. 

ooooooo 

Once they were back on the road for a while, d’Artagnan confidently stated, “You have a plan.” 

“Possibly,” Athos he drawled. “When Aramis asked about your birthday, you said that we were away on a mission and that I was severely injured.” D’Artagnan nodded and he continued. “The last time I was injured that badly on a mission was when it was my birthday.” 

The older man let what he’d said hang in the air, hoping his friend would fill in the obvious blank, and was not disappointed. 

“I had a feeling you would make that connection,” the young Gascon said before shrugging. “My birthday is actually the day _after_ yours.” 

“I never realized that I was being so prophetic that day at the Bastille when I said that you were more like me than you knew,” Athos remarked with a smirk. 

“Neither of us knew at the time,” d’Artagnan agreed, a matching smirk on his face. 

“I propose that you tell our friends that we share the same day of birth. That you hadn’t said anything previously because you didn’t want to take away from my day. I know that I’m asking you to break a commandment, but…” Athos trailed off, hesitant to continue until he knew how d’Artagnan felt about his plan. 

D’Artagnan seemed to contemplate the idea for several moments. “My mother once told me that she was in labor for a long time and that I was born before dawn, while it was sill dark outside. A few hours earlier and I would have had the same birthday as you. It’s not really a lie in my mind. Besides,” his friend added quietly, looking away and out over the countryside, “I’ve committed worse sins in my life.” 

Athos was certain that d’Artagnan was referring to Constance and their adultery but refrained from commenting. Instead, he asked, “Is this plan acceptable to you? Will you be able to tolerate celebrating your birthday as long as you don’t celebrate on the actual day?” 

His young companion bowed his head for half a minute before raising it again and nodding. “I think I can live with that.” 

“I hope so, because once you tell our two friends, they are going to give you – _and me_ – hell for it.” 

D’Artagnan nodded and said, “I know.” Then he groaned and dropped his head into one of his hands. “They are going to be merciless, aren’t they?” 

The older Musketeer couldn’t help the smile that spread out over his face. “No mercy at all,” he agreed. “You don’t have to go along with my plan. I thought sharing would help take some of the attention—” 

“Athos, it’s fine. I would be honored to share a birthday with you.” The Gascon reached out to grab his sleeve, and they both brought their horses to a stop. “Thank you, Athos. I don’t think I could ever accurately express how much this means to me.” 

“You’re welcome, d’Artagnan.” 

Athos wanted to say more; he wanted to say how d’Artagnan was like family to him. He wanted to tell his friend how much he relied on the younger man, but the day’s revelations were enough for the time being. They would have many years in which to canvass such matters. 

They resumed riding for several minutes when a thought occurred to him. “D’Artagnan?” The man in question looked over. “It has come to mind that because of a mission or injury that the celebration of our birthdays might, at some point in the future, fall on the date of your actual birth.” 

D’Artagnan paled a bit at that declaration. Athos reached over and patted a knee. 

“I will do my best to have that not happen.” 

The young Musketeer nodded his acceptance and prompted his horse to increase its speed towards Paris. They did not speak again for the remainder of the journey back to the garrison. 

Athos could tell that d’Artagnan was taking time to consider all that they’d talked about and what they had decided that day, coming to terms with it and perhaps accepting the new reality of his future birthdays. 

For his part, he enjoyed the quiet as it gave him time to think as well. He thought about the fact that, though there were no words between them that it still seemed as if they were in constant communication. He had that with so few people in his life and was pleased beyond measure that d’Artagnan was amongst them. 

ooooooo 

When they returned to the garrison, d’Artagnan took his horse so that he could deliver the captain’s letter. 

Athos took a step forward then turned back towards his friend, who lifted an eyebrow in question. 

“Would you mind if I accompanied you the next time you go to light a candle for your mother?” the older Musketeer inquired. 

D’Artagnan’s expression was one of surprise; the younger man had probably already surmised that Athos and God were not on the best of terms since Thomas was murdered. However, d’Artagnan seemed to be all alone in the world except for his brother Musketeers, and Athos felt lending his support was something he both needed and wanted to do. 

“You don’t have—,” his friend began, but d’Artagnan must have correctly read his determined expression and quit speaking. He then held out a hand for Athos to shake. “Thank you. I would like that.” 

ooooooo 

They managed to avoid the issue of d’Artagnan’s birthday until it was once again Aramis’s birthday. 

Athos was right; neither Porthos nor Aramis would let it go until d’Artagnan admitted that he and Athos shared a birthday. And he’d been correct in his prediction of how merciless the teasing would be though he had forgotten how inventive his two friends could be. 

The older Musketeer chose to pay no heed to the teasing and, for a time, d’Artagnan did as well – until one day when he could no longer ignore it. Athos had not been present and had no idea what had happened, but from what he could gather, d’Artagnan had disappeared for the day because of whatever had been said or done. The next day, all seemed to be back to normal between his three friends. 

Two weeks later, Aramis and Porthos were the victims of a highly embarrassing prank, which would be talked and laughed about for years to come by their brother Musketeers. 

Everyone thought d’Artagnan had to be the culprit and Aramis and Porthos wanted revenge, but Captain Tréville had willingly provided him with an alibi. It would have been impossible for the young Musketeer to have pulled off the prank – or so it seemed. 

Their captain had heard about their ‘shared’ birthday and had immediately known it to be a falsehood as he had records on all his commissioned Musketeers. Tréville had called the two of them into his office to get to the bottom of the situation. Once d’Artagnan explained what he was able, the captain had agreed to not reveal the truth. Athos was once again reminded of why he so greatly admired the older man. 

What Porthos and Aramis did not know or expect was that d'Artagnan had not one, but two, accomplices to ensure the success of his prank. His young friend had counted on the fact that no one would suspect the two older men of ever getting involved in such childish antics. Their two friends had forgotten that, though Athos was taking the teasing in stride, he was just as annoyed as d’Artagnan about it. 

Despite the solid alibi Captain Tréville provided, Aramis and Porthos remained suspicious of d’Artagnan. However, that did not matter because their teasing of Athos and d’Artagnan finally ceased; they were far too busy deflecting the teasing that they were being subjected to by most of the other Musketeers. 

ooooooo 

When it came time for his birthday – _their_ birthday, he reminded himself – there was a big party to celebrate. Athos would’ve preferred a quieter night out, but Aramis had insisted on the party in order to make up for the previous year of not acknowledging d’Artagnan’s birthday. 

Athos kept an eye on d’Artagnan to make sure his young friend was coping with celebrating his birthday for the first time in years even though it was a day earlier than was official. To his immense relief, the Gascon was enjoying himself and basking in the comradery of his brothers-in-arms. 

And to his own surprise, Athos found he enjoyed himself as well and ended up not drinking as much as was the custom when it had solely been his birthday. He found he did not need to drink in order to force his dark memories to the deepest recesses of his psyche when he was content to make new memories that he would be able to fondly recall in the future. 

ooooooo 

The sounding of someone knocking on his door woke him up, and from the amount of light in his room, Athos could tell that it was still very early. 

Groaning aloud at the earliness of the hour and annoyed with the intrusion upon his sleep, Athos took his time to get out of bed and answer the door. 

It was a shy-looking d’Artagnan, and if he had thought about it ahead of time, then he would have expected his friend to call on him at such an hour. 

Barely awake and irritated with the disruption to his morning, Athos hissed, “What is it? Tréville told us not to report until after midday.” 

D’Artagnan’s expression fell and he lowered his head. “I am sorry for disturbing your rest. You said… You offered…” He shook his head. “Never mind. My apologies.” 

His young friend turned to leave, walking as if someone had taken away his pauldron. Said? Offered? What did—? 

Realization struck as if he had been hit by a bolt of lightning. Heedless of his state of dress, Athos rushed after d’Artagnan and grabbed his arm to stop him from leaving. 

“No, d’Artagnan. It is I who should apologize. You should know by now that mornings and I are not on the best of terms.” He tugged on the younger man’s arm to prompt him to follow him back to his rooms. “Give me ten minutes?” 

D’Artagnan grinned and nodded, looking both happy and relieved. 

ooooooo 

His friend led them to a small chapel dedicated to the Virgin Mary, where d’Artagnan remarked that the building was almost an exact copy of the one in his hometown. 

Once inside, d’Artagnan lit a candle and bowed his head in prayer. Athos had hung back, wanting to offer his support but not wanting to intrude upon the private moment. Yet, once the younger Musketeer had bowed his head to pray, Athos felt led to light a candle of his own. 

When he was finished, he looked up in time to catch the surprised yet curious expression on d’Artagnan’s face. 

“For Thomas,” he whispered around the lump forming in his throat. 

D’Artagnan nodded once, a pleased smile erupting on his face. His friend’s next action took him completely by surprise. 

The younger man surged forward and grabbed him into a tight hug, one in which he feared he would never be freed from. As he brought his arms up to return it, Athos was reminded of the times when he could’ve hugged d’Artagnan but for one reason or another did not. Though he had second guessed himself each time, he was now content that he had waited. 

This hug was more than the thank you that d’Artagnan had just whispered in his ear. This hug cemented them as brothers of the heart. They had earned this hug and more than deserved it after everything they had been through together since the first day they met. 

Athos didn’t know how long that they had stood there embracing each other, but he didn’t care who saw him or what they thought of the very public display of affection. 

When d’Artagnan finally released him, he said, “Well, Brother, I believe we will miss breakfast if we don’t leave in the next few minutes.” The younger man laid a hand on his stomach. “I’m starving.” 

“When are you not starving?” he deadpanned then smiled. 

As they made their way to the exit, D’Artagnan lightly elbowed Athos’s arm in retaliation for the remark before putting a hand out to stop him from leaving the chapel. 

“This is the best birthday I’ve had in a long, long time,” he admitted quietly. 

Athos laid a hand on the back of d’Artagnan’s neck. “It is the same for me as well,” the older Musketeer replied, squeezing his brother’s neck once gently before letting go. 

“Then it’s fortunate we share the date.” 

D’Artagnan’s reply was accompanied by a smile that was as brilliant as the sun which washed over them as they walked side by side back towards the Musketeers’ garrison. 

ooooooo 

_The end._

**ooooooo**

**Author's Note:**

> I was literally in the middle of writing this story when my hard drive decided to up and die. Much of it disappeared because of that, but fortunately I had hand-written notes to help me recreate what was lost. Then, when I could finally start working on what was left of what I had in mind, the story went in a direction I hadn’t anticipated. I hope you enjoyed it. 
> 
> No beta; mistakes are inevitable in life. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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